A Story of One Flood
by Lilan
Summary: Events come flooding in as our favourite brothers come to Dol Amroth for a bit… Written for The Brothers of Gondor fanzine at the Brothers of Gondor discussion board
1. Chapter 1

**A Story of One Flood**

_**Author's Note: **I'm really grateful to all those whose invaluable suggestions made this story what it is. Special thanks to Cressida for her tremendous support when it stopped going smoothly. I'm not sure I would have finished it without her!_

**Chapter 1**

'…But what if you poured water into the dragon's mouth?'

'What?!'

Faramir rolled over onto his belly.

'You could. Then the dragon couldn't breathe fire…just steam, I think.'

Boromir looked genuinely confused. 'How does one pour water into a dragon's mouth? They fly rather high!'

'What if you use a pump and make something like a fountain?'

'Hmm…can you make a fountain high enough?'

'I don't know,' Faramir admitted and sighed.

Boromir echoed his brother's sigh and slid off the bed, going to the window.

'There is going to be a storm again,' he groaned, looking at the darkening sky. 'You know, I wish we were at home!'

Faramir looked at his brother with sympathy. Spending a whole day indoors was more than enough to make Boromir cranky, and since the very beginning of their visit to Dol Amroth, it had been rainy, windy, and cold. The Prince and their uncle both seemed to be occupied all the time – there had been some trouble with the dam, and they feared it might burst, not able to stand the rush of yet another storm, and the farmlands would be flooded and people killed…

Finally, their grandsire had left to oversee some works at the dam and had later sent word that he would stay there as long as he was needed. The women of the household were busy preparing various supplies in case it came to the worst, so in the end, the brothers were largely left to themselves. Which would not be all that bad if the weather were better…

Faramir did not mind it all _that_ much. He could easily occupy himself with some quiet indoor play, or a book. But he did feel for his poor older brother… Boromir certainly liked to read too, as well as play with wooden soldiers and tell dragon tales. Doing it for eight days, however…

Boromir dragged a chair to the window and climbed onto it, putting his chin on the windowsill and heaving another miserable sigh.

'I wish I were there!' he said. 'I could help too. I could…well, drive carts with people's things…you know I could, don't you? Or run errands?' He looked anxiously at Faramir.

The younger boy eyed him critically. 'Yes, I suppose so.'

Privately, he thought that Boromir had to be bored indeed to offer anything of the kind.

'Only, it would probably be too dangerous at the beginning,' he added upon some reflection. 'Those draught horses are different from rides. You would need some time to master them.'

He also thought Boromir was most certainly _not_ strong enough, being only twelve years of age, and could well be trampled down by all the busy grown men, but knew better than to say it.

Casting another sympathetic glance at Boromir, he immersed himself in the book about dragons again, half his mind working hard on the construction of that fountain…

Suddenly, there was a noise in the hallway: the sound of hurried footfalls and male voices speaking agitatedly all at once. The brothers exchanged startled glances and, in an instant, were both out of their chamber.

Once in the broad hallway, they were in a crowd of tall, wet, panting people. Faramir recognised two or three faces of their uncle's courtiers, usually very friendly with them both; today, however, they just gave the lads a cursory glance.

Boromir ran up to one and started to ask a question, but was rudely shoved aside.

'For goodness' sake, lad!' the man growled. 'Take yourself to your chamber and play there!'

Boromir went white with rage, then deep red, then white again. Faramir thought it best not to wait for yet another change of colour and dragged his brother away from the crowd.

Fortunately, the latter was too stunned with wrath to offer much resistance.

Back in the chamber, Boromir finally found his voice.

'How dare he!!!' he thundered. 'I shall tell Grandfather when he comes, and Uncle, and then Father, and they will have him punished for it! Maybe even flogged, out in the city!'

'I doubt that any of them would order such a thing,' Faramir said.

Boromir stomped his foot. 'But did you hear what…'

'I think something really bad has just happened, that's why he was so angry,' came the calm answer.

'Well…I think you are right,' said Boromir, already calming down. 'But he could have told us what it was! I wonder where Uncle is…'

Barely had he uttered that when the door opened and in came Imrahil, just as wet and unkempt as the rest of those men they had seen.

'Uncle!' Faramir rushed to him first. 'What happened?'

Imrahil ruffled the lad's hair, sighing.

'Nothing too good, Faramir,' he said.

'What?' two voices cried.

In the midst of all his worries, Imrahil found himself being very close to chuckling. The two pairs of grey eyes bored into him as both his nephews stood very close to him, Faramir tugging at his belt and Boromir having taken a firm hold of his right hand. They looked like two over-enthusiastic young pups jumping around their master…indeed, he had an impression they might start bouncing at any moment!

'The dam burst,' he finally said.

There was a collective gasp from the brothers.

'So this is why everyone is so agitated,' Boromir murmured, feeling a tiny bit guilty. He glanced at Faramir and was relieved to see no 'I told you' look upon his face.

'Busy, too,' Imrahil said. 'We need every hand we can get…a village has been flooded, and most people are still on the roofs, some with their livestock, waiting for rescue.'

'How are you going to do that?' Faramir asked, frowning.

'Boats,' their uncle answered. 'We are taking them to a safe place by boats.'

'Oh…'

They fell silent. Imrahil sighed and patted both their heads.

'I have come here to you for a reason…' he started. Boromir brightened immediately.

'What?' Now he started to bounce indeed. 'You want us to help, don't you? I can row very well, remember you taught me last summer? And Faramir…'

He faltered for a moment, realising that Faramir probably could not do that as well as he, but not wanting to hurt his little brother…surely _he_ wanted to be out there too!

'Faramir can help with the beasts, he's so good at that!'

To his surprise, Faramir did not express any joy or enthusiasm. He seemed to know their uncle's next words before they were spoken…

'No, Boromir, that was not why I wanted to talk with you,' he sighed, the look in his eyes making Boromir's protests die on his lips. 'Neither of you is old enough to help, and I know your father would not look upon this favourably either. But I do want to ask something of you.'

Boromir, who had looked crushed by the response, brightened a little. Meanwhile, Imrahil continued, 'We shall need the servants too, so I should ask you to take your supper from the kitchens by yourselves, and then go to bed. I trust that you, big and smart lads as you are, will behave reasonably and will not give anyone any trouble. Agreed?'

Faramir simply nodded. 'Yes, Uncle,' he said.

'Y-yes…' Boromir whispered.

Imrahil looked relieved.

'Very well then,' he said and kissed the tops of their heads. 'I shall see you on the morrow.'

With that, he turned and was gone, leaving poor Boromir standing in the middle of the chamber, looking as miserable as never before…

Faramir patted his shoulder hesitantly.

'Leave me be!' Boromir snapped, jerking away. 'You…you are just like Uncle!'

'But it wasn't my fault that he said no,' Faramir objected, feeling a little hurt. Boromir did not speak.

'I shall bring the supper,' Faramir sighed.

When he returned, balancing a loaded tray in his hands, Boromir was sitting on a rug in front of the fire. He seemed not to notice his brother's entrance, staring at the little flames that were dancing merrily, oblivious to his misery.

Faramir came closer and carefully placed the tray onto the rug, casting a wary glance at him. Boromir's eyes were gleaming with tears that he stubbornly refused to let fall: he was already twelve, after all!

Faramir sighed again and put his arms around Boromir.

'Don't be so sad,' he said. 'Let's eat…'

Boromir sniffed.

'It isn't fair…' he moaned. 'We should be there too! Maybe we could rescue someone, and then Father would know about it and be so proud, and Uncle, too, and we could be real heroes who save people from certain death…'

He reached for the bowl of cherries. Faramir took a piece of cheese.

Suddenly, Boromir burst into a fit of coughing. Faramir put down his cheese and thumped him between the shoulders. A cherry stone shot out of Boromir's mouth and into the fire.

'You have just thought of something,' Faramir observed.

'How do you know?'

'You always think of something new when you eat and make this "aaahh" sound and choke when you do,' came the answer.

Boromir waved his hands impatiently.

'Listen, but…aren't they all going to be out there? Grandfather, Uncle, and their men, and even the servants?' he whispered, eyes wide with excitement.

'I suppose so,' Faramir said. 'Are you thinking of…of sneaking out?'

'Certainly!' Boromir exclaimed. 'And then Uncle will see that I am not a little child anymore!!'

Something in Faramir's expression made him lose a little share of his enthusiasm.

'What?'

Faramir sighed and said, 'I don't think you should do that.'

Boromir's eyes flashed angrily.

'Well, if you think this is not right, you can stay here like a little girl,' he said. 'I can go without you, if you are afraid!'

A minute of silence followed, and Boromir had not the slightest idea of the struggle going on in his brother's mind. Faramir's natural reluctance to do a thing which was needlessly dangerous and clearly wrong conflicted with his unfaltering devotion to Boromir, the person whose authority could be only contested by that of their father. He had a strong suspicion Father would disapprove of Boromir's enterprise. However…someone had to keep an eye on Boromir. Faramir was certain that his big brother would land in something bad if he himself were not around…Boromir was so easily distracted, and he still could not keep his balance in the boat very well, despite all his bragging.

Faramir sighed and shook his head slowly.

'No, I _am_ going with you,' he said, pointedly ignoring the "little girl" comment.

* * *

'…I wonder why they didn't take your boat, Boromir.'

'It's probably too small…here, hold the oars. Oooh...!'

The wide lowland that had been a little farming village just days before appeared a sea before the eyes of two scrawny boys dressed in plain and rather shabby clothes, their faces so grimy no one would recognise the Steward's sons. The grime idea had come to Faramir; he thought their chances of remaining unrecognised were better that way.

Boromir held his breath, trembling with the excitement. Never before had he seen houses with little more than their roofs above the water…and on the surface were floating bits of broken chairs, wooden kitchenware, toys, some other things he could not discern…

However, his agitation soon gave way to disappointment. The rescue teams had clearly left the place, taking even house cats with them. Some distance away, he could make out their boats through a thick veil of rain.

'They are gone,' Faramir sighed.

Boromir pressed his lips together stubbornly and resumed his rowing.

'Boromir, there is no one to rescue there,' his brother pointed out.

Boromir half-turned his head back.

'All the same, let us go and look,' he said stubbornly, though Faramir could hear a distinct quiver of hurt in his voice. 'They could have left someone behind…hey, remember that book Grandmother read to us? About a baby left in a burning house, and how a man saved it? What if there is a sleeping baby in that house over there, and it might drown if no one thinks of looking inside?'

Faramir thought that the chances of that were rather slim; he had not even believed that book. What kind of parents would leave their child behind? Even if they were as busy as their father, they would surely try to save it! He was sure their father would, and their uncle and aunt, too. However, upon a little consideration, he decided to humour Boromir, who was starting to look rather unhappy.

'Here, let me help you,' he said, reaching for one of the oars.

Boromir sighed with relief. It _was_ good to have Faramir along. Faramir could be just a _little_ bit like Father and Uncle when he wanted, and that made Boromir both uneasy and annoyed at times…but today, they were together, and Boromir was glad of that. Even though they were both quite wet already.

They approached a house, and Boromir moored the boat to one of the beams sticking out of the water.

'Tie it fast,' Faramir said, placing the oars in the middle.

'I know, I know!' Boromir snapped. 'This isn't my first time in a boat!'

'Yes, but you have lost it once, and the fishermen brought it back from the sea, remember?' Faramir said.

The older boy merely snorted and straightened up, reaching for the edge of the roof and then suddenly pulling himself up. Faramir nodded with approval; his big brother was strong indeed! He himself had to rely on Boromir's strength to get on top of the house.

Once up, they got to the comb of the roof and looked around.

There was nothing but other flooded houses around them. The boats with the men were not visible any more through the rain, which had thickened; the wind that had not bothered them much before was blowing rather strongly now, and there were waves on the water.

Boromir sighed; it had occurred to him already that any unlucky forgotten baby would be dead by now in a house full of water. Still, he suddenly felt the excitement mount in him again. Was it not wonderful…standing on top of the house, as if on a ship's deck…

He turned so that the wind was blowing into his face, putting his hands on Faramir's shoulders and turning the younger lad with him. Faramir sniffed the air current like a dog and smiled.

_'Like the Sea-Kings of old…'_ Boromir whispered, shifting his feet to stand more comfortably.

And suddenly the shabby roof broke under their feet, and the two little Sea Kings fell into the house with a frightened yelp.

* * *

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Boromir felt his feet hit the floor of the house and pushed up, holding his breath.

'Faramir!' he sputtered out as soon as his head emerged from the water.

At first, he did not see or hear anything, and an icy horror gripped his heart. What if Faramir had hit his head on something? What if he had drowned?

'Boromir!' he heard suddenly and felt so weak with relief that he nearly went underwater again. Turning around, he saw his brother, pale and frightened, but very much alive. More than that, Faramir appeared to be sitting or standing on something and not floundering about, though only his head and neck were visible.

'What…what is that under you?' Boromir managed, his teeth beginning a lively chatter.

'A stove, I think,' his brother replied. 'Come over here.'

Once Boromir was beside him, Faramir heaved a tremulous sigh and hugged him.

'I was afraid you had drowned,' he whispered.

'Me? Never,' Boromir said. 'Let's try to get onto the roof again…'

To their great dismay, that proved more difficult than they had thought.

The house was filled with water, but the hole in the roof they had made when they fell in looked unreachable to them. It had not been difficult to catch hold of it when standing in a boat…but now, Boromir was starting to feel terribly hopeless.

'Perhaps we could break a window,' Faramir suggested.

…Having swum around the house yet again, they huddled together on the stove, even more dismayed. The windows were not difficult to break, but the frames had proven too strong for them, and the glass too small for them to swim out through the hole where it was.

Unusually silent, Boromir put his arm around Faramir's shoulders and firmly banished the tears from his eyes. Not that they would be visible on his already wet face…but Faramir would know, he knew it.

'Someone is going to find us soon,' he said.

Faramir did not answer, and Boromir was grateful to him for that. His little brother was sharp enough to understand that no one was going to come looking for them…

* * *

'Listen!!'

'Mmm?'

'Boromir! You said we mustn't sleep!'

'Argh…what is it?'

'There's someone outside!'

Boromir's head jerked up, and he nearly fell off the stove.

Meanwhile, Faramir was listening intently, and then plunged forward, towards the faint shaft of light from the hole.

'Help!' he cried. 'We are here, inside!'

And then, suddenly, a head peered into the house.

'My goodness!' the head said. 'What are you doing there, lad?'

'I…I fell down, with my brother…please, sir, would you be so kind as to help us to get out?'

Even now, Faramir did not forget his manners.

The man on the roof did not ask further questions, but fiddled a little with something, and finally there was a long, wide strap dangling from the hole.

'Here, I've made a loop on the end…grab it, lad!'

Faramir reached for the thing, but then turned his head and called anxiously, 'Boromir?'

'Go,' Boromir breathed, hardly believing his eyes. 'I'll come after you.'

Boromir was afraid his brother would not have the strength to climb the rope, but the man just pulled him up and out of the house. For an instant, Boromir was seized with blinding panic, left alone in the dark, water-filled house…but then the strap was there again, and he could follow Faramir.

He was scarcely aware of his surroundings until they were in the boat. The man shook him and demanded angrily, 'So what have the two of you been doing there?'

'N-nothing,' Boromir stuttered. 'We…we just wanted to look…'

'To look?! And how old are you, lad?' the man growled.

'I am twelve, and my brother is seven,' Boromir replied proudly.

The thing that followed was the last one he expected. The man grabbed him by the waist, and in an instant, he heard something heavy land on his backside with a loud slap! And then again!

Boromir was so shocked he did not even feel the pain of the wet leather hitting him. Before he could say anything, the same had been performed on Faramir, who winced and bit his lip, but did not utter a sound either. The attack simply infuriated Boromir, though.

'Do not touch my brother, you!' he bellowed.

'Thinking about your brother, are you?' the man snapped. 'What were you thinking about when you were dragging him in there, you little pup? The two of you could have died in that house! Good that I saw that hole in the roof!'

'Don't you touch me or my brother anymore!' Boromir's eyes were still full of fire. 'Do you know who we are?'

The man's anger suddenly dissolved, and a light smirk appeared on his lips.

'Tell me, young lord,' he said with mocking courtesy.

'I am Boromir, son of Denethor the Steward of Gondor!' Boromir announced proudly.

'Now, such cheek deserves some more spanking,' the man remarked, reaching for his belt again.

'No!' came a cry from Faramir.

The younger lad caught his arm and looked into his eyes imploringly.

'No…please, sir, don't hit him…he speaks the truth.'

Something in his face clearly made their saviour believe him, for the man lowered his hand and sat staring at them in astonishment. Boromir could not help a little sigh of relief and said quietly, 'Yes, s-sir…I speak the truth indeed.'

The man sighed too.

'If this is true, then you deserve much more spanking, my lads…but not by me. I'll take you to the Lord Imrahil.'

He turned and occupied himself with the oars.

* * *

Later, Faramir thought that the way back was somehow much harder than the quest one embarked upon…but perhaps that was just because they were wet, cold, and downright miserable.

Their rescuer did not talk much. Boromir sat hugging himself, head bowed, and gave an occasional quiet sniffle now and then. Faramir sighed and stared ahead.

He wondered what their uncle would say. Nothing too good, for certain… He would be astonished, then angry, and of course a little relieved. Faramir wondered if anyone had noticed their absence. They had slipped out with ease, the guard at the entrance distracted by some people asking him to lend them aid with blankets, or something… Their uncle had certainly not expected them to disobey in the way they did.

Faramir sighed again. It had been wrong of them to do it…all wrong…and now they had to face an upset Uncle Imrahil. What could be worse than that…

* * *

''Tis good to have you here,' Imrahil said, pouring the wine. 'But frankly, I did not expect you to come, especially since the roads are in such a poor state.'

Denethor winced a little.

'Poor indeed,' he said with a sigh. 'Mark it, I was not travelling by our usual way… But naturally, I had to come, with all this flooding. It has been a hard spring, has it not?'

Imrahil rubbed his brow.

'Let us say we are not awaiting winter very eagerly.'

'Do not worry overmuch about the supplies,' Denethor said. 'I have been looking into the matter for some time now, and I gather there is enough food to suffice for all of the land.'

He eyed Imrahil more closely and added, 'You do look weary. I hope my sons have not been adding to the trouble too much.'

'Surprisingly, they have not,' Imrahil answered with a chuckle. 'Today, I asked them to look after themselves because I needed every spare hand, and they have been remarkably obedient to that. You do not mind that, do you?' he added anxiously.

'Not in the least,' Denethor waved his hand dismissively. 'They have been left to themselves before. Boromir is old enough to be in charge of himself and his brother for one evening…not that Faramir needs that much.'

Imrahil smiled.

'Your sons are good lads, brother.'

Denethor nodded thoughtfully and sipped his wine. 'Aye, they are.'

He looked straight into his brother-in-law's face and gave an almost imperceptible smile.

Imrahil returned it and thought, not for the first time, that to know Denethor's true mind was a task not for a mortal to attempt. Had he not known the Steward for years, it would have been hard even for him to discern in Denethor's eyes both pride and love for his children. Still, being a son to a father that exacting was no small task, he thought…

'I should like to see them, now that all the urgent affairs have been discussed,' Denethor said, rising from his chair.

The Steward had arrived with a small suite and as quietly as possible, so only a few of Imrahil's men knew of his arrival. Denethor had ordered that his visit not be announced to Boromir and Faramir until later. Imrahil wondered if it was not a wish to give the lads a surprise that lay behind that order.

'Come, then,' he said. 'They will be delighted to see you.'

* * *

The brothers let themselves be led towards their uncle's office without a word of protest. Both were too weary and cold to notice much of their surroundings. Faramir's mind absently noted the gasps and dropping jaws and hands clapped to mouths. Boromir was very gloomy, steeling himself for the lecture to come. He was certain it would be a long lecture. It struck him that he would rather accept another encounter with their rescuer's belt.

He felt Faramir's hand slip into his and press it lightly. Boromir pressed it back and gave his brother a tiny grateful smile.

Finally, they were at the door to the office…and it opened…and again, desperately, fervently, Boromir wished he were to be spanked again. Instead of having to deal with the person who stood at their uncle's side.

* * *

Boromir stood with his eyes on his feet as their rescuer recounted their tale to Denethor and Imrahil. Faramir was still holding his hand, but his fingers were now trembling a little. Boromir thought his little brother might be scared, but when he looked at Faramir anxiously, he noticed the bluish tinge of his nose and lips. The poor lad was wet through and obviously very cold…

Boromir interrupted the account resolutely. He had a feeling this breach of etiquette was nothing compared to all he had done on that day.

'Father,' he said firmly, 'may Faramir go and change?'

A silence followed. Denethor eyed his eldest for a long moment.

'Very well, Boromir,' he consented. 'Faramir, go to your chamber…and you had better go to bed.'

Faramir looked alarmed. His glance shot to Boromir's face, and then to that of his father. He took a step forward and opened his mouth as if to argue, but Denethor stopped him by putting a firm hand on his shoulder.

'You will do as I bid, child. And…' he glanced at Boromir, 'your brother likewise. There will be time to talk on the morrow.'

Faramir slowly nodded and turned to go. Boromir stood motionless until his younger brother pulled his hand and said very quietly, 'Come, Boromir.'

Boromir let himself be guided out to the hallway, for once letting his brother take charge.

Silently, they made their way to their chamber. Neither spoke as they were disentangling themselves from their wet garments, and later scrubbing themselves clean in a tub of blissfully hot water…

Only when Boromir was prepared to get into his bed did he break the silence.

'Good night, Faramir,' he said very quietly and slid under the covers.

Faramir suddenly rushed to his side and embraced him.

'Father will not be very angry with you,' he whispered reassuringly.

Boromir sighed.

'He already is, Faramir,' he said, looking into his brother's worried face. 'And rightly so. I have endangered both our lives…and I should have been looking after you, not getting you killed.'

Faramir was about to protest, but Boromir shook his head sadly.

'Go to sleep, little brother,' he said.

* * *

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

As he was quickly making his way to his own chamber, Denethor still felt his knees shake.

Once inside, he bolted the door and took two swift steps to the chair, not even bothering to light a candle. The faint glow from the dying fire was enough. He sank heavily into the chair, pressing a hand to his face.

He had managed to preserve an expressionless appearance while the tale of his sons' adventure was being told, but his blood ran cold every moment he thought of how close he had been to losing them both…

He took several deep breaths to calm himself. It was a miracle that both the lads were unharmed. On the morrow, he would talk to them about it and think of a fitting punishment…now, he was merely grateful to have them back.

A faint noise startled him. He turned and stirred the fire, extracting several merry flames.

The noise seemed to have come from the direction of his bed. Denethor came closer, thinking that perhaps a cat had decided to share it with him, and becoming somewhat irritated at the thought.

However, he was wrong, for it was no cat, but his younger son, wrapped in a warm coverlet apparently borrowed from Denethor's own bed.

'I am sorry, Father,' Faramir said, not waiting for Denethor to recover from his astonishment. 'I wanted to ask you about something, but you were not here, and then I was cold and climbed into your bed…you are not angry?'

Denethor, still not over his initial surprise, nearly chuckled. No, indeed, there was no danger of him becoming angry at this after all that had happened earlier in the day.

'No, child, I am not, though you should be in your own bed by now.'

'I know,' Faramir said, nodding gravely. 'I only want to ask you something.'

'I am listening, then.'

The lad inhaled deeply, then clasped and unclasped his hands, and finally asked his question. 'How are you going to punish us for running away?'

Denethor sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his son's anxious face, barely discernible in the semi-darkness of the chamber.

'Something tells me you are not asking this because you are afraid of it, Faramir. Am I right?'

Faramir pondered the question and shook his head.

'No, I am not afraid,' he said. 'But Boromir is…very sad.'

'Sad? Well, he _should_ be ashamed of what he did. Not only did he foolishly rush into something very, very dangerous…something that could have cost him his life; he also put your life at stake, and he was responsible for you because you are his younger brother. But for a lucky chance, you might have both been dead,' Denethor said, expertly keeping his voice quiet and level, though something twisted painfully in his stomach again as he was saying it.

Faramir sighed almost inaudibly.

'I'm sorry that we made you fear for us, Father,' he said, clutching the edges of the coverlet tighter.

A familiar faint sense of astonishment swept across Denethor's mind. He was by now accustomed to Faramir's astuteness when it came to what was behind the things that people said. He had not said a word about fear, nor had he betrayed himself with any tremor of his voice or body…and yet the child simply _knew_. A somewhat disconcerting sensation it gave…

He stood up abruptly and walked to the fire.

'You do realise, Faramir, that what happened was your fault as well,' he said somewhat gruffly, his back to the bed. 'I know you have not talked about this much with your tutors yet, for it is too early for you to be taught about the ways of the state…'

'Oh, but I know something about it,' Faramir said with confidence. 'I know that I shall advise Boromir when he is Steward…and much shall depend on myself as well as on him…and I should not support Boromir if he is thinking of doing something perilous. Is that right, Father?'

Denethor turned around and eyed the lad with new curiosity. Faramir was talking so solemnly that he could be mistaken for a grown man, if not for the voice.

'Aye, it is, though I should prefer you not to interrupt when your elders are speaking,' he said, and was content to see Faramir look properly chastised. 'Did you try to persuade Boromir not to escape?'

Faramir nodded, and suddenly the solemnity left him altogether.

'Yes…but he wouldn't listen to me! He said he wanted to help, and also that he wanted to see if there was anyone in need, and he hoped to work with others and perhaps save someone, and surely you, and Uncle, and Grandfather, and everyone would be proud of him, because he would be a _real_ hero then. And then I decided to go with him and look after him, because Boromir can be so careless, though he's already so big and strong, and I…'

'Peace,' Denethor checked the outpour, 'I have guessed that much. But you wanted to know about your punishment…'

Faramir nodded, turning grave again, and yawned. Denethor came back to sit on the bed.

'Truthfully, I do not know yet. However, your words might have given me a good thought,' he said. 'Now go. 'Tis long past your bedtime.'

Faramir let go of the coverlet, emerging from it only in his nightshirt, and prepared to leave when suddenly Denethor's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

''Tis chilly in the hallway, Faramir. You may take that with you.'

The Steward watched with mild annoyance mixed with amusement as the child struggled to wrap the thick thing around himself. Faramir was much too tired and sleepy, and the coverlet kept slipping out of his fingers, which were still red and swollen from the cold.

'Let me assist you with that,' Denethor finally said, stooping to his son and wrapping him up warmly.

He looked at Faramir's flushed face under a mop of thick black hair. The two grey eyes, darker now than was their wont, were blinking at him sleepily. A long, thin scratch went down the left cheek; Denethor noticed it was still bleeding a little. Faramir smiled tiredly and yawned again, showing a missing tooth in his upper jaw… Denethor's heart constricted painfully in his chest as he was struck with the blood-curdling thought that he might have never witnessed the new tooth growing in the little gap…that this sleepy, warm, innocent child could be lying cold in a forgotten, flooded house…

With a sharp intake of breath, Denethor took the lad in his arms and whispered, for he could not trust his voice, 'I shall take you to your chamber, Faramir.'

'But Father, you can't carry me! I'm not little anymore!' Faramir protested…rather feebly, though.

'Silence, child,' Denethor said, holding him tightly and slowly regaining his composure. 'If you needed to see me so desperately, you could have put on your boots, leastways. I should rather have my son be carried to his chamber than run around barefoot.'

When they made their way to the door, Faramir was already asleep, snuggled close to his father's chest. Denethor put him carefully to bed, kissing him lightly on the cheek, and went over to where Boromir was sleeping.

His eldest was lying sprawled across the bed, the covers kicked almost to the footboard. Denethor smiled and covered him again, noticing that Boromir was much taller than he had been before the departure to Dol Amroth. Yes, he would one day grow into a fine youth… Denethor leant down and placed a kiss on his brow. Boromir frowned and shifted a little.

The Steward stepped away, cast one more look upon the sleeping children, and left them to recover after their adventures of the day before.

* * *

Boromir was awakened by a playful ray of the late morning sun.

At first, he scowled at it and turned in his warm and soft bed, determined to have some more sleep. An instant later, his eyes opened wide and he scrambled from under the covers and ran to the window.

_The sun?!_

He felt like bursting in a merry song. The rain had stopped! He could now play outdoors and maybe go swimming if it was warm enough…

And then, the events of the day before came back to him like a…flood.

His glance shot to the other bed. Faramir appeared still fast asleep, untroubled by the sun or his brother's movements.

Why had no one come to awaken them?

As if in response to that thought, the door opened slowly, revealing their father.

Boromir sighed and returned to the bedside, standing there with his eyes upon Denethor's face.

'Good morrow, Father,' he said quietly.

'Aye, 'tis good indeed,' Denethor replied. 'And not merely due to good weather. Sit.'

He did as he was bidden. Denethor took a chair and did the same, eyeing his eldest silently with an inscrutable expression. After a while, he spoke.

'I deem you are old enough to understand all the peril of your venture. Have you aught to say?'

'I am sorry I put Faramir's life in danger,' Boromir said.

'Your own, too.'

'I know…but Father, I didn't want merely to sit here and wait and do nothing! I thought they needed help there, and I'm strong enough to assist, I am!'

'And yet there are things that require sitting and waiting and doing nothing, as you say. You must learn those too. As well, you must listen to what your elders say,' Denethor said.

Emboldened by his father's calm, Boromir snorted.

'Shall I always have to listen to others and not follow my own mind?'

_Child…much do I desire you to be your own man, and you seem to be one already…_ Denethor thought. Certainly, he would not say anything of the kind to Boromir.

'Nay, if making up your own mind is preceded by careful consideration; if you have weighed all your choices and concluded that there is not a better way. Pray tell, where has your mind brought you this time, son?'

Suddenly, Boromir felt terribly weary again.

'Nowhere,' he whispered, feeling a thin veil of tears form in his eyes. 'We nearly died in that house, and there was nothing we could help others with, and…and…and I have lost my boat.'

He nearly burst into tears as he said that; suddenly, the loss of the boat seemed the most disastrous to him. But he only took several deep breaths and looked Denethor in the face again.

'You were to stay in Dol Amroth for a week longer, were you not?' Denethor said.

'We were,' Boromir nodded, feeling an odd sense of relief.

So this was their punishment. Father would take them back to Minas Tirith earlier than was planned…and right when the weather changed for the better. There would be no running on the sandy beaches or swimming or rowing…not that he had a boat anymore.

However, when Denethor spoke again, he said something very unexpected.

'I have decided that you will stay here for _two_ more weeks.'

Boromir's mouth fell open.

'I see that you are astonished at this,' Denethor said. 'But such is my decision. You will stay here, but not for pleasure. Your grandsire or uncle will appoint you to some duties at the site of the flood, where you so much wanted to be. You will work there, and maybe also find some of the renown you were seeking, though that I doubt.'

'And… and Faramir?'

'Your brother will go with you.'

Boromir's glance wandered to where Faramir was still sleeping peacefully, a hand under his cheek. The talk had not been enough to disturb his slumber.

'Awaken your brother, 'tis rather late,' Denethor said rising. 'The luncheon must be awaiting you already.'

He walked to the door and was about to leave the chamber, when something seemed to check him in his stride.

'Boromir, did you not say that you wanted to rescue someone?'

Boromir nodded, not sure what was to come. His father was standing in the doorway, a curious half-smile upon his lips. Finally, Denethor spoke.

'You may think you have. The boat your grandsire gave you was washed to a house in a neighbouring village, also flooded after the dam burst. There was a young woman sitting on the roof with a small child, and she was able to get to safety in your boat.'

With that, he turned and was gone.

Boromir stood rooted to the spot for a while; then his face broke into a wide grin, and he threw himself onto Faramir's bed.

'Wake up, you sleepyhead!!'

* * *

_THE END_

_A/N: thanks, everyone who reviewed! I'm glad to know you liked the story; I enjoyed writing it too. Hope I'll have more to post soon!_


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